Unexpectedly, my drunken travels take me on a clumsy, this-way and that-way self-tour that lasts an hour or more. Eventually, I end up at the Princess tower and its room, opposite where I am staying in the Prince tower and its room. I reach the bedroom’s single door outside Kel Foxford’s room, tap on its plane of wood three times, and call out, “Kel, are you in there?”
Silence. Nothingness.
Of course, he’s not inside the room. He’s currently between the porn star’s legs on the second floor, busy in act seventeen of his seduction.
I enter the room.
Shame on me. What am I thinking? Do I no longer have any manners?
The room is a mirror image of my own except that everything is various shades of dark and light pinks: bedspread, numerous pillows, square rug on the floor, draperies. The roo
